


Chance Encounter

by archdemonblood, sein_Henker



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 15:40:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5211392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archdemonblood/pseuds/archdemonblood, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sein_Henker/pseuds/sein_Henker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris is back in the Tevinter Imperium, rescuing slaves. Tabris and Zevran are in the Tevinter Imperium on a similar mission, and they decide to keep each other company for a little while. post-DA2, pre DAI.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Title: Chance Encounter  
Summary: Fenris is back in the Tevinter Imperium, rescuing slaves. Tabris and Zevran are in the Tevinter Imperium on a similar mission, and they decide to keep each other company for a little while. post-DA2, pre DAI.   
Rating: 18+  
Word Count: 10,175 total   
Pairings: male!Tabris/Fenris/Zevran; Fenris/Isabela (mentioned); male!Hawke/Anders (mentioned); male!Tabris/Zevran/Isabela (mentioned).  
Trigger Warnings: animal death, bdsm, detailed mentions of past rape, food, gore, injury, minor original character death, needles, physical punishments, slave play mention, slavery.  
Contains: anal sex, boundaries discussion, cock riding, mage-siding Fenris, mild masochism, nipple play, oral sex, pregnancy mention, pro-mage warden, submissive comes last, submissive Fenris.

~*~

Fenris pulled his hand out of the slaver's chest as the slaver choked out his last painful breath, and then Fenris wiped the blood off his glove and onto the leg of the slaver's trousers.

He looked up at the frightened group of people chained together on the side of the road.

“I'm sorry you had to see that,” Fenris said. He wasn't good at comforting people, but he tried to keep his voice soft. There was a child in this group. “It can be upsetting, if you're not used to it, but I hope you understand that it was necessary.”

A few of the slaves nodded, though none of them seemed quite up to speaking.

Fenris sighed. They were afraid of him. That happened a lot. “Avanna. Ei laro Fenris. Ei vento nai mordoi deid,” he told them. Sometimes it worked. “I'm here to help you.”

The slaves said nothing.

He just had to work with it, at this point. Fenris looked at the dead bodies around them. “Do you know which of them had the key to your chains?” he asked the slaves.

A woman near the front pointed to a body several yards to Fenris' right. The child was clinging to her leg. Was she his mother? She must have been, though he looked human. Elf-blooded. That was what they called it in the Free Marches. In Tevinter, it didn’t matter enough for there to be a word for it. Humans could be slaves just as easily as elves could, and few enough slaves knew who their fathers were that around half of all elf-blooded slaves probably had no idea. 

Fenris walked over to the body and began to search through its pockets. He located a ring of keys relatively quickly. Some slavers liked to keep them in hidden pockets, or beneath other layers of clothing. This slaver was not so cautious.

Fenris held the ring of keys up and walked over to the slaves very slowly. He went to the woman who'd pointed him to the body first, because she was at the end of the chain, and he lifted his hands to the metal collar around her throat, which had a chain running through it, connecting her to all the other slaves being transported from Perivantium to Solas. Fenris had to try several of the keys before he found the right one, but then there was a click, and the collar popped open. Fenris gently removed the collar, and then moved on to her child. He continued like this until every slave was free.

They stood there, still in a cluster, staring at Fenris with confusion. This was an improvement from the looks of fear they'd been giving him earlier.

“You all speak Common, don't you?” Fenris asked. “Deid lerno Common?”

The slaves all nodded, even the child.

“Good,” Fenris said. “First and most importantly: You do not have to come with me, though it is your best chance for survival and freedom. We are currently on the Imperial Highway. Return west, the way you came, and you will end up back in Perivantium. You will most likely be returned to captivity there, and it's impossible to say who you'll end up with as a master, but if you'd like to take your chances, or if you have your own plan for survival, you're welcome to try it. I have some money I can give you. Would anyone like to leave the party now?”

The slaves all looked around each other. No one spoke. Most of them shook their heads.

Fenris nodded. “Good. The safest thing for us to do now is get off the highway. If we head southeast from here, through the mountains, we will pass Solas to the east without ever coming close enough to attract notice. We have the supplies from the slavers, and I have everything I was able to carry on my own. Between that and the meat we will find in the mountains, we should have enough food and water to get us all to Hasmal, in the Free Marches. I am capable of taking care of the hunting on my own, but we will certainly eat better if I have a little help. If any of you know how to wield anything sharp, please let me know. Otherwise, we will have to ration the food. We might be hungry when we get to Hasmal, but we will get there alive.

“Once we're there, I will give each of you what coin I can. I would recommend using some of it on a couple of hot meals and a warm bed at an inn; _Not_ the same inn. It is crucial that you all split up once we reach Hasmal. Travel only with those you must. Groups of more than three will make innkeepers and ferry-drivers nervous.

“After a night of rest, get out of Hasmal as quickly as you can. Hasmal is crawling with Tevinter slavers and the Hasmalian guards are not sympathetic to runaway slaves. We're safer in Hasmal than we are in the Imperium, but we are not safe there. The farther you get from the Imperium, the safer you will be, but the more coin it will cost, and so the less coin you will have to establish yourself once you arrive in your new city. You'll have to decide for yourselves which city is best. Starkhaven in the Free Marches and Hunter Fell in Nevarra are the cheapest cities to travel to, followed by Kirkwall, but you will still see slavers there. If you can make it to Ferelden, you will likely never see another slaver again.” The woman with the child scoffed, and Fenris wondered why, but he could investigate that later. “Val Royeaux is safe, as are most cities in Orlais. Slavers are rare there, and the guards are mostly sympathetic to us. Be careful in Churneau or Ghislain. Slavers are rare there, but the guards do not make escaped slaves feel welcome, and you're liable to be deported back to Tevinter for some minor offense. Antiva City is not safe. Slavery is officially illegal in Antiva, but that's never stopped the Crows from buying and selling children. Tevinter slaves bring them shipments of child slaves once a year or so, and they pick out the ones they want, and if the slavers are aware of any escaped Tevinter slaves living in Antiva, they'll looking into it, particularly if they believe the slaves have any children that they might be able to sell without the hassle of transporting them back to Tevinter.”

Fenris looked at the group. “Every adult here is an elf,” he said. This was not always the case, when he rescued groups of slaves. “Good. When you arrive in your new city, go the alienage. That's where most of you will end up living for the rest of your lives. Alienages are close communities, hostile to strange humans and dwarves--though they will not turn away children, particularly elf-blooded children--” The mother’s face was blank, though whether that was because Fenris was telling her something she already knew or because she didn’t express her emotions, Fenris wasn’t sure. “--but they are welcoming to new elves. They will help you find jobs and places to sleep. They will protect you.”

The newly freed slaves nodded.

“We'll go over all of this again when we get to Hasmal,” Fenris said. “It is a lot. I know.” Still, when Fenris had first escaped, more than a decade ago, he'd have killed for someone to tell him which cities were safe and which weren't, and how to safely get from one place to another. Fenris even knew which innkeepers, ferry-drivers, and traveling companies could be trusted, but he didn't want to dump that information on them, just yet. He would explain when they got to Hasmal, and they'd all have a better idea of where they wanted to end up than Fenris could expect them to just now. “Has anyone changed their minds?” Fenris asked. “If you want to leave, now's the time to do it. Once we're in the mountains, I can't take you back and you _do not_ want to get lost in there.”

The slaves looked around at each other again, and then the woman with the child said, “We're sticking with you. We’d have to be fools not to, at this point.”

Fenris blinked at her. “You're Ferelden.” Fenris knew the accent well. Most of his friends were Ferelden.

She nodded. “From Denerim. I guess I'm one of a handful of unlucky exceptions to the 'You'll never see a slaver in Ferelden' rule.”

“I am sorry. I did not mean to—”

“It's fine. Let's just go.”

Fenris nodded. “We need to loot the bodies, first. Take their warm clothing, all coins, and any jewelry.”

Several of the slaves still just stood around looking confused, but several did as Fenris asked, including the Ferelden mother. She left her child, who looked to be about four years old, to mind himself with the other slaves who weren’t helping.

When they'd picked the slavers clean of anything they could possibly use, Fenris distributed it to those who were able to carry it, and led the group into the mountains. 

As they walked, the other elves started to relax. A few of them introduced themselves to Fenris. The Ferelden mother was Sarah, and her son was Tarsian. She told Fenris that she planned to return to Denerim. She wouldn't feel safe there, but she doubted she'd feel safe anywhere, and at least she knew people in Denerim. Fenris agreed that this was for the best.

The others who talked to Fenris had all been born slaves, and had never set foot outside of Tevinter. Fenris had to correct a few misconceptions: No, they didn't eat elves in Nevarra; No, Ferelden elves had not evolved to withstand cold that was certain to kill a Tevinter elf; No, strangers were not assassinated on-sight in Antiva; No, in Orlais they did not skin elves to make fashionable coats. No, they did not force you to drink darkspawn blood to get into the Anderfels; No... The men had a great deal to say about the dangers of matriarchal Rivaini women, _most_ of which Fenris disputed, and all of which left Fenris flustered. Magisters would say anything to keep their slaves from running, it seemed. Danarius, at least, had known that Fenris was smarter than that.

They walked until the sky started to change colors, warning them that the sun would be coming up soon. Fenris wanted them as far away from the highway as he could get them before they stopped to rest, but Tarsian was fussy, even with Sarah carrying him, and the adults all looked exhausted too. Fenris was thinking they'd have to stop sooner than he really wanted to.

The youngest of their group, save Tarsian, was a tall girl with long hair and a chipper voice. She moved to the front of the pack and walked side-by-side with Fenris for a moment, before she said, “So, when are you going to go hunting?”

“When we stop to rest,” Fenris said. “Why? Are you hungry?”

She shrugged. “A little. That's not why I asked.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “So then why did you ask?” He was curious, not annoyed, and he hoped his voice conveyed that.

“I can help you hunt!” the girl said. 

Fenris looked at her for a moment. Even in the darkness, he could tell that she was scrawny and graceless, and there was an innocence in her demeanor and voice that did not fill Fenris with confidence. Fenris had known many slaves who’d been trained to kill, and he could tell that she had not been. “What sharp object did your fool of a master let you play with?” he asked, and he hoped she could tell that he meant it teasingly, not cruelly. Her innocence was not a bad thing.

She smiled. “Well, it’s not exactly sharp, but...” She looked around, and after a moment, she settled her eyes on a tree where a flock of birds was chirping away. She pointed, and a cone of ice shot from her finger to the branch. 

Three birds fell to the ground. Two of them died on impact, already weakened from the damage of the ice spell, and the third froze to death in Fenris’ hand when he picked it up. 

Fenris took a breath. He’d known that if he kept doing this, eventually he was going to come across an incaensor. It was just numbers. In fact, he probably already _had_ come across a few, but the others had been smart enough to keep it quiet. Fenris knew, rationally, that these inc... that these mages were just as much slaves as Fenris had ever been, and that they needed and deserved Fenris’ help as much as any other slave did. Fenris had known one incaensor in memory, and he knew that they couldn’t all be as bad as her. This girl seemed genuine. She wanted to help. Fenris knew that there was no rational reason why he should not let her help. Fenris knew, and understood, many things that he did not feel. 

This hatred was a sickness that Fenris could not get over. He’d think he was over it, but then it would come back: because someone on the street bore a striking resemblance to Hadriana; because Anders said something that sounded every warning bell in Fenris’ mind, though Fenris wasn’t sure why; because a teenage girl froze a couple of birds. 

The problem was not her; it was Fenris. 

“That is useful, I suppose,” he said. He could hear the bite in his own voice, and he didn’t like it. Hawke had told him it was okay to feel this way, as long as he didn’t let the feeling rule him. Fenris believed Hawke. Feelings did not ruin a man; actions did. Fenris tried to get his voice under control. “Very well. You’ll come with me.” 

“Great!” she said. 

Fenris stopped himself from flinching. “You will have to be quiet, while we hunt,” Fenris told her. 

“I can do that,” she said. 

“If you say so.” 

“I do.” She gave him a look that was trying much too hard to be serious. “My name is Claudia, by the way.” 

Fenris nodded. This was okay. Claudia was not a Magister. Claudia was safe. Claudia was a fugitive slave, just like Fenris, and she wanted to help. “I’m Fenris.” 

“You said that before.”

Fenris was about to respond when two humans jumped out from behinds trees a dozen yards in front of them. It was obvious in an instant that they were slavers; they had chains on them, the particular type of blades that were favored by slavers, and that cold look in their eyes that Fenris had long ago stopped fearing and now just found disgusting. One of them held a lantern, illuminating everything when the sun still did not. 

“Alright, knife-ears! Weapons on the ground and hands behind your heads! You two in the front, especially!” 

Fenris sighed and dropped his sword. 

There were only two of them. Fenris could handle this, perhaps even more easily bare-handed than he could with his sword. It wasn’t even going to ruin his morning. 

He took a few careful steps away from Claudia. Most of the slaves seemed to have gotten over their fear of Fenris, including and perhaps especially Claudia, but it seemed rather unhelpful to get blood all over her clothes, all the same. 

“Oi, Dalish! Stop moving!” 

Fenris felt good about ignoring this order. ‘Dalish’ was not his name; it wasn’t even an adjective that accurately described him. 

The smaller of the two slavers raised his blade. “Come any closer and we’ll run you through, Dalish.” 

Fenris kept coming closer. 

He was still well out of arm’s reach, and out of the reach of the slaver’s blade, when a blade erupted from the throat of the taller slaver. It was a strange sight. One second, he had a perfectly normal, healthy-looking neck. The next second, there was a blade jutting out of it. It’s tip was pointed at Fenris and there was blood on it. In fact, a great deal of blood came gushing out around the blade, and Fenris watched the light go out in the slaver’s sight. 

The other slaver hit the ground before the dead one did, dropping the lantern as he went down. It was snuffed out, but there was still enough light from the sky to make out shapes and shadows, if not details. “My legs!” he screamed. “I can’t fucking feel my legs!” 

“I can fix that,” Fenris promised him. He closed the distance between them, knelt down, and killed the man with one glowing hand. 

Now the slaver could not feel anything. That was a sort of solution. It solved _Fenris’_ problem, anyway.

There was an arrow sticking out of the man’s back. Unsurprisingly, there was also a knife handle on the back of the neck of the other slaver. The blade, it seemed, was buried in his throat to the hilt. 

Both weapons had come from behind the slavers, well ahead of where Fenris currently stood. 

Fenris squinted into the twilight until he saw the dark shapes, half-hidden behind trees, but allowing themselves to be seen. 

“Come out and let me thank you properly, if you’re friends,” Fenris said.

The shadows glanced at each other, and then moved out from behind the trees. 

“A bit of light would be nice,” one of the shadows said. 

Claudia obliged with a simple spell, and Fenris blinked at his rescuers for a moment before they came into focus. 

They were both elves, which was encouraging. Fenris had met elven slavers before, but they were far rarer than human slavers. Even free elves were usually more inclined to protect runaway slaves than betray them for profit. It was one of the few aspects of elven culture that Fenris truly appreciated. 

Both men had long hair, but the similarities ended there. While neither of them was light skinned, one was now the darkest elf in the company, with a warm dark brown complexion, while the other was nearly the same shade as Fenris, but his skin had a warmer tone while Fenris’ had a cooler tone. Both were tattooed, neither of them like Fenris. The lighter elf had curved designs down the side of his face, and the darker elf had similar curved lines, but around his left eye and on his rich cheek. The darker elf’s hair was black, and his eyebrows were thick. The lighter elf was blond, and his eyebrows looked tweezed. From what Fenris remembered of the man, he’d have no difficulty believing they were. 

The darker one was holding a crossbow. 

“I remember you,” Fenris said to the blond elf. “You’re that assassin that all of the other assassins want dead.” 

“I am indeed,” Zevran said. “And you are the magical elf who hates magic. Though, less than I remember, if the rumors of you helping the mages in the Kirkwall Rebellion are true.” 

“They are true,” Fenris said. “It is not a decision I wish to defend, at this moment.” 

“No one is challenging your decision,” the other elf said. “In fact, I would have done the same. Anders is a good man, as is Justice. I’ve read that book--” 

Fenris closed his eyes for a moment to stop himself from rolling them, and took a deep breath to get over the urge entirely. Fenris had read Varric’s book too. He’d sent his copy back to Varric, thoroughly annotated with criticisms and corrections, and politely asked for his money back. Varric hadn’t responded. 

“--and I believe he had his reasons for what he did, and that the mages needed someone to defend them.” 

Well, that was a fair conclusion, whatever the source of the information he’d used to draw it. Fenris nodded. 

“Is Anders--” 

“I am not going to tell you where Anders and Hawke are,” Fenris said simply. “I appreciate your help in dealing with those slavers, but I will not give you information that will put Hawke or Anders at risk, even if you claim to be on their side.” 

“That’s fine,” the man said. “That’s not what we came here for. But... You can contact him, right? Just tell Anders that Warden-Commander Tabris supports him and hopes he’s taking care of himself.” 

“I will see to it that the message reaches him,” Fenris said. Tabris looked unsatisfied, so Fenris added, “He will appreciate it a great deal. These last few months have been hard on him, but Hawke loves him dearly.” Fenris nearly added ‘for some reason,’ but he stopped himself. Zevran and Tabris could not be expected to understand how complicated Fenris’ relationship with Anders was. They would misinterpret the statement. “Hawke takes good care of Anders, even when Anders abuses himself.” 

Tabris almost smiled. 

“What are you doing in these mountains, then?” Fenris asked. 

“Aside from enjoying a romantic stroll to the beautiful melodies of the Tevinter lark?” Zevran said. “We saw dead slavers and no slaves. We saw two men who had discovered this just before we did, and we saw them head into the mountains. We thought that perhaps someone would need some help.” 

“We were mistaken,” Tabris said. He smiled at Fenris. “You seem like a man who can handle himself.” 

“I appreciate your help, all the same,” Fenris said. 

“Phasing through solid objects is a neat trick,” Tabris said. “Where’d you learn it?” 

Fenris shrugged. “Where does anyone learn anything?” 

There wasn’t an elf in sight who looked satisfied with that answer.

Fenris sighed. “My former master branded me with lyrium and then I underwent many months of painful training in how to wield the lyrium’s power, and in more general Tevinter fighting techniques.” 

“Ah, of course. Painful training. The usual way one learns how to kill,” Zevran said. “Though one does wonder ‘why?’ That is a lot invested into making you a killer, and yet... you are not an assassin.” 

“No,” Fenris said. “I was a...” The word ‘bodyguard’ died on his lips. He’d told that lie so many times; Danarius had taught him that lie, and Danarius had told it more than Fenris had, always with a playful twinkle in his eyes, because everyone knew it was a lie. “... showpiece.” Fenris was a showpiece, who’d served as a bodyguard sometimes, because Danarius didn’t want to seem like too much of braggart, and a ‘pet’ can’t always be displayed before polite company, even in Tevinter. 

Zevran and Tabris looked at each other and frowned. Fenris knew that look. It was part pity, part horror, and full of anxiousness because they had no idea what to say. 

“It is...” Fenris said. He couldn’t bring himself to say that it was fine. “... my life. My master is dead now. I’m moving forward. I’ve got many other things to concern myself with, at the moment.” 

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Zevran said. “You are leading a group of fugitive slaves through the mountains. Headed to Hasmal, I take it?” 

“We are,” Fenris said. “You are welcome to join us, if that is where you are headed; Our food supplies weren’t meant for a journey like this and I could use more men who know how to hunt. I am certain that the pair of you would contribute more than you took. If you are not headed that way, I wish you luck on your journey.” 

“We were not headed that way, but we will join you, to help,” Tabris said. “And perhaps on the way you can answers a few questions for me--not about Anders,” he said quickly. “About you, and your... operations? I take it this isn’t the first time you’ve rescued slaves?” 

“It is not.” 

“I happen to be looking for slaves.” 

“Specific slaves, he means,” Zevran added quickly. 

“Right. I’m looking for the Ferelden elves that were wrongfully sold into slavery during the regency of Loghain Mac Tir.” 

Fenris shrugged. “I believe we’ve one such elf in our party, to begin with.” He turned around. 

Sarah was staring at Tabris like she was seeing a demon tempting her with her heart’s dearest desire. 

“Riley,” she breathed, putting the child down. “Riley Tabris.” She shook her head. “My master was talking to his sister one day, years ago, and they mentioned the Hero of Ferelden. A grey warden. An elf. I hoped... but I didn’t dare to believe. When you left, we were all so sure you were going to die...” 

Tabris dropped his crossbow and ran to her. Her pulled her into his arms and said “It’s okay. It’s okay now. I’m alive and you’re alive and I’m going to take you back to Denerim. Things are better now. The new king is better. I promise.” 

She cried. Zevran took it upon himself to take Tarsian away from the scene and entertain him. Sarah watched Tarsian go, and then she collapsed against Tabris’ chest and cried. The other slaves seemed to take this as a sign that they were done for the night, and though Fenris would have liked to keep going for a few more hours, he could tell that his party did not have it in them. He let them all set up camp. 

Eventually, Sarah cried herself to exhaustion, and then she found a place for her and Tarsian to sleep. Fenris watched as Zevran put the little one to bed with a gentleness Fenris would never have expected from an assassin. 

Tarsian wasn’t Sarah’s biological child, as it turned out. She told Tabris the story, and Fenris overheard: She’d been in love with another one of the elves her master owned. Sarah’s lover fell pregnant about a year into their relationship, and she died from complications during the birth. They slave healer had barely managed to save Tarsian’s life. Ever since then, Tarsian been Sarah’s. She was the only mother he had ever known, and she worried about his future as any mother would. There was no life for them as slaves in Tevinter, but if he inherited the gift of magic (she did not say from whom) then there might be no life for them in Ferelden. Tabris assured her that King Alistair was sympathetic to mages, and that Anders was working hard to create change, and that things would be fine. She did not seem to believe him.

Once everyone had settled in for the night, those that could hunt went hunting. Claudia insisted on coming along, even with three trained fighters, and Tabris had laughed off Fenris’ attempts to send her to bed instead. “Come on, Fenris! She wants to help! Besides, four’s the best number for these things, and it’s always good to have a mage in the party.” 

So it was that Fenris ended up venturing higher into the mountains with _three_ cheerful elves. There was no big game in sight, so they were forced to gather as many birds and rabbits as they could. What Claudia lacked in ability to keep quiet, Zevran made up for. He could get his knife in a rabbit before it saw him approaching. Tabris was as talented with his crossbow as Varric had ever been, and Claudia really was useful. Between the four of them, they were able to collect enough rabbits and birds to keep everyone decently fed for a few days, and since Claudia could use her magic to help preserve things, they would be able to go awhile without worrying about hunting again. 

The sun was well up in the sky by the time they found their way back to camp. It was mid-morning, and everyone else was asleep. They would sleep until the afternoon, and then they would eat and continue on. 

It was nice having two other men with combat training to share the watch with. Fenris often asked the slaves he was rescuing to help with the watch, but it was rare for them to be able to do any more than panic and wake Fenris up every single time a rabbit got too close to the camp. With Tabris and Zevran around, Fenris _slept_. 

He trusted Tabris and Zevran; Not quite enough to tell them where Hawke and Anders were, but they didn’t seem to be asking, which was a confidence booster in its own right. Zevran was an old friend of Isabela’s, and Tabris was the Warden-Commander that Anders had spoken so highly of, and whom all the Fereldens went starry-eyed at the mention of. They’d apparently followed those slavers from before into the mountains just in case a random group of slaves needed their help. Fenris believed they were good men. 

Fenris awoke in the early afternoon, judging by the position of the sun, and he found Tabris and Zevran already awake, skinning rabbits by the fire. Most of the others were still asleep. 

Fenris joined Zevran and Tabris, and picked up a knife and a dead rabbit. 

“I hope you don’t think...” Tabris said carefully, “...that I don’t care about Tevinter slaves. I do. It’s just that the Ferelden slaves were my friends and neighbors, and I have funding and endorsements from King Alistair Theirin to aid me in returning them all home safely.”

“I understand,” Fenris said. “You take care of those you love first, and you solve the problems that have solutions. That’s all any man can do, including myself.” Fenris began work on his rabbit. “If I could kill the Archon and end slavery in Tevinter forever, I would. But I can’t, so I save individual slaves.” 

“You can’t kill the Archon?” Zevran asked with a smirk. “Or you can’t end slavery by doing so?” 

Fenris looked up at him and smirked as well. “I certainly _could_ kill the Archon,” he said, though he wasn’t sure it was true. 

Zevran and Tabris chuckled. 

“The point, however,” Fenris said, “Is that ‘Free the Tevinter slaves,’ is a tall order, even for the Hero of Ferelden. ‘Free the Ferelden slaves’ is a bit more manageable, and it’s personal for you. I do not interpret you prioritizing your people as a disregard for mine.” 

“I’m glad,” Tabris said. 

They chatted for a while about what Fenris knew of Ferelden slaves: very little, he was sorry to admit. One Tevinter slave who’d gone on to Denerim had mentioned that he was going because his old master in Nerominian had owned a Ferelden, and that elf had talked often of how much she missed the Denerim alienage. 

Tabris seemed glad for the information, and not at all put off by the fact that Fenris had no more than that to offer him. They settled into a comfortable silence for several minutes, until Tabris broke it by saying, “So... You and Isabela?” 

“Yes,” Fenris said. Varric had made it clear enough in his book. He hadn’t overdone it on the details, though, which Fenris was grateful for. Fenris had a reputation to uphold. “ _You_ and Isabela?” he asked, as much to change the subject as anything. 

“Yes,” Tabris said. 

“Actually,” Zevran said, “ _Us_ and Isabela.” 

Fenris looked from one of them to the other. “Interesting,” he said. 

“That is one way of putting it,” Zevran said. “I was thinking that it was a shame that you and Isabela did not get together sooner, before I came to Kirkwall. Perhaps the three of us could have had some fun.” 

Fenris smirked. “I had almost forgotten how forward you are,” he said. 

“Forward and very good in bed.” 

Fenris’ smile softened, but he gave no answer. He’d had sex with two people at the same time once before. He hadn’t enjoyed it, then, but that had been under very different circumstances. Maybe things would have been different, with Isabela and her friend. 

Hawke and Anders had offered, just a couple of months ago, and Fenris had considered it carefully. He’d decided then that sex with two people at once could, in theory, be pleasurable, though he’d declined that particular offer. Things were still complicated between Fernis and Anders. A threesome had seemed unlikely to make them _less_ complicated, though Fenris was flattered that Hawke and Anders wanted it. 

Fenris returned his attention to skinning the rabbit. 

“I trust our flirting isn’t making your uncomfortable?” Tabris said. “Zevran and I keep each other’s sleeping bags warm, but there’s always room for one more.” 

Fenris chuckled. “No, I don’t mind flirting at all. You are... very handsome men, and I wouldn’t mind a warmer sleeping bag myself.” 

Zevran and Tabris looked at each other and smiled.

That night turned out to be a bad night for warming sleeping bags. They stumbled upon a wolf pack in the dead of night, and though Fenris, Zevran, Tabris, and even Claudia fought hard to ensure that they suffered no losses, the fight left them bruised, scratched, and tired, with no healer or potions to spare. Claudia attempted a few healing spells, but it ended only in frustration and apologies. Fenris had a first aid kit, as did Zevran and Tabris, but those contained only a very small amount of healing potion, which needed to be saved for a real emergency. Fenris and Zevran both knew how to wash, stitch, and bandage wounds, so they set to doing this for anyone in the group who needed it, including each other.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Chance Encounter  
Summary: Fenris is back in the Tevinter Imperium, rescuing slaves. Tabris and Zevran are in the Tevinter Imperium on a similar mission, and they decide to keep each other company for a little while. post-DA2, pre DAI.   
Rating: 18+  
Word Count: 10,175 total   
Pairings: male!Tabris/Fenris/Zevran; Fenris/Isabela (mentioned); male!Hawke/Anders (mentioned); male!Tabris/Zevran/Isabela (mentioned).  
Trigger Warnings: animal death, bdsm, detailed mentions of past rape, food, gore, injury, minor original character death, needles, physical punishments, slave play mention, slavery.  
Contains: anal sex, boundaries discussion, cock riding, mage-siding Fenris, mild masochism, nipple play, oral sex, pregnancy mention, pro-mage warden, submissive comes last, submissive Fenris.

~*~

“This was not how I’d hoped to get you writhing beneath me,” Zevran teased while he pulled the needle through Fenris’ flesh, closing a deep wound on Fenris’ lower back.

“I am hardly writhing,” Fenris said. His teeth were grit and he was clutching a stone so tightly that his knuckles were white, but he wasn’t so much as flinching, let alone writhing. Fenris did not writhe. Besides, it was the needle that bothered him, more than the pain. At least it was out of his sight. 

“No,” Zevran agreed. “You are not. Are you always so unresponsive?” 

Fenris didn’t even think about it. The next time Zevran stuck the needle in him, Fenris hissed and tensed every muscle he dared to tense. He scrunched up his, face, too, for Tabris’ benefit if not for Zevran’s, and a second later he let the ugly grimace fade and looked at Tabris with wide, submissive eyes. It was all a little dramatic, but that look drove Isabela wild in the bedroom. It had always been rather effective on Danarius too, which was why Fenris had originally mastered it. Fenris had been a good slave, but he had not been above being manipulative, when he could get away with it. This was different, though. Tabris and Zevran _knew_ they were being manipulated, and Fenris didn’t _need_ it to work. This was just a game; and it was fun. 

Fenris watched Tabris’ eyes light up. 

“My my,” Zevran said from behind Fenris. “Whatever look you just gave my lover, you must teach me it.”

Fenris doubted the cocky Antivan assassin could learn it. 

“... but not until later. I think we had all best stop giving each other looks until I finish these stitches. We don’t want to ravish each other with open wounds.” 

Even after the stitches were done, there was no ravishing that night. Once everyone was stitched and bandaged, they realized how tired and sensitive to the touch they were, and even Zevran and Tabris had no fun in their sleeping bag that night. 

Fenris slept fitfully; his gash kept waking him up with its intermittently agonizing throbbing. Sleeping on his stomach helped the pain only a little, and at the cost of making it more difficult to get every other part of his body comfortable. Fenris had never found that position easy to rest in. 

Sex like this was out of the question. Being taken on his back would be unimaginable agony, he didn’t like being taken on his stomach, and being on top would require so much movement that it would be almost as bad as being on his back. His mouth was perfectly functional, but his focus wouldn’t be on the task at hand while he was in pain, and he was in pain nearly constantly, and would be until they got to Hasmal. 

Tabris and Zevran weren’t in any better shape, either. Tabris had been bitten hard on his thigh. He hadn’t needed stitches, but that area was going to be tender until they got some healing potions, and undesirably tender thighs were not conducive to sexual pleasure. Zevran had a gash on his arm at least as deep as the one Fenris had on his back, and though it wouldn’t be in the way during most sex acts, it was still just as uncomfortable. 

So they flirted, but they didn’t touch each other for the entire two week journey through the mountains. They cleaned and dressed each other’s wounds regularly, and it was an odd experience for Fenris, to have such gentle hands on his body. It reminded him of Anders on some of their best days, and perhaps on some of their worst. Anders had never been more gentle with Fenris than he had been while healing Fenris’ wounds after the Kirkwall Rebellion. There’d been pain then too; there was always pain when magic touched Fenris’ skin. Sometimes Fenris thought that Anders knew that. Sometimes Fenris thought that Anders felt bad about that. There was nothing that could be done about that pain, either. 

The real agony came in Hasmal. Fenris was _so close_ to a market district where he’d be able to find healing potions, but he had to take care of the fugitive slaves first. He gave all of them what money he could, repeated his earlier instructions, and when they broke into groups and told him which cities they were going to, he pointed them all toward safe ways to get there. 

Tabris had a bit of extra money and some documents for Sarah, and a little bit for Claudia too; apparently he’d talked her into going to Amaranthine and joining the Grey Wardens. That was probably just as well. Going from being a slave in Tevinter to an apostate in the Free Marches after the Kirkwall Rebellion might just be getting out of the oven and going into the fire. The Grey Wardens would keep the girl safe. 

That was it. That was all he could do for them. They were on their own now. 

Now all Fenris wanted was an injury kit, a meal that hadn’t been cooked on a campfire, and a real bed. 

Zevran had arranged all three in the time that it took Fenris to send his fugitive slaves on their ways. He turned around to find the couple standing behind him with injury kits and a key to a room at one of the nicer inns in town in their hands, and when Tabris smirked and said “So, are you coming with us?” Fenris knew what he was really being asked, and Fenris agreed eagerly. 

He followed them up to their room with a slight fluttering in his stomach which was not wholly unpleasant. Fenris had very particular sexual appetites, and he’d made that clear enough during their two weeks of flirting. He did not know what would be expected of him once his injury was healed. He wanted to do whatever they wanted him to do, but until they told him, he had to ride these feelings of vulnerability and disquiet. 

Fenris was undressed as soon as the three of them were alone in the room, and that was an experience unlike any Fenris had ever known before. Danarius had never undressed Fenris himself. There’d been two commanders: “Strip,” and “Strip _slowly_ ,” and Fenris had obeyed whichever one was given and let things go wherever they went from there. Isabela had always pulled Fenris’ clothes off herself, but she’d done so as quickly as possible, pausing only to quickly grope or admire several parts of Fenris’ body that she was particularly fond of. Fenris’ other lovers, the few that he’d shared a single night each with in the years after Danarius but before Kirkwall, had let Fenris undress himself at his own pace as they did the same. 

Zevran and Tabris took their time. Their touches were light, and they rubbed every area of skin they exposed, save the wound, as if they hadn’t also spent two weeks sleeping on a hard ground. They were using those same light touches they’d used while changing Fenris’ bandages. They were gentle and slow, but Fenris didn’t get the sense that they thought they were going to break him. Fenris had been in this position before, upstairs in an inn with someone he didn’t know half as well as he’d have liked to, and even the hardest dominant lovers had been timid with Fenris, like they were afraid they were going to accidentally activate his markings, or worse, like they were worried they might _break_ the sad little fugitive slave. Fenris had enjoyed sex with Isabela so much in part because he’d never gotten the impression that she was afraid she’d break him. Fenris was not breakable. 

All the same, gentleness was nice. The warm, soft hands moving down Fenris’ body seemed to wake up every nerve they passed over, leaving Fenris alert and aching for more. In a fit of daring, he let himself lean into Tabris’ hand, slightly, and Tabris had chuckled and smiled at Fenris sweetly. 

As soon as Fenris was naked, with even his bandages discarded on the floor, Tabris told Fenris to roll over, and Fenris obeyed. 

The injury kit’s salve did not feel good, when it was first pressed to the gash. It was slimy and cold and it made the wound sting worse than it had since Zevran got the stitches in. It was bearable, by Fenris’ standards, but Fenris recalled clearly how his exaggerated reaction had affected Tabris the last time, and if he was going to do this, he was going to do it properly. He hissed, he tensed, and he let his face get ugly or a second before he looked at Zevran with wide eyes. While their eyes were locked together, Fenris let out a low moan. 

“Oh my,” Zevran said, smiling. 

It didn’t take long for the injury kit to do its work. Within a minute, Fenris was no longer in pain. He wondered if he had a scar. He’d have to see Anders about that, when he could. Fenris always got cosmetic healing. 

It occurred to Fenris for the first time in a decade that he had no idea _why_ he always got cosmetic healing, and then he immediately realized why, and had to swallow his bitterness. Fenris didn’t even _like_ these tattoos, but he’d long ago internalized the fact that he was not allowed to ruin them. 

Perhaps he would _not_ talk to Anders about healing them. Not this time. 

Zevran and Tabris were not as gentle or as slow with themselves as they’d been with Fenris. They both undressed quickly, and helped themselves to injury kits before they finally turned their attention to the food that had been left on the dresser for them. 

“Food first,” Tabris said. 

He turned to Zevran and smiled, and Zevran pulled a blue silk tie out of his pocket. 

“Put your hands behind your back,” Tabris told Fenris. “We’d like to tie you and feed you ourselves.”

“If that is alright,” Zevran added. “We have not discussed boundaries.” 

“Feeding me with your hands or with silverware is fine,” Fenris said. “I won’t--” But that was too hard to say. He tried again: “Putting food in a bowl on the floor and asking me to lap it up is out of the question, as are all other all other forms of pet play. No collars, no leashes, do not ask me to crawl unless there is a practical reason why I should, and...” He couldn’t even look at them for this part. “Call me ‘pet’ even once and I will leave, and things will not ever be the same between us. It’s... just how it is.”

“Understood,” Zevran and Tabris said in unison. 

Fenris relaxed a little. Pet play was the import point, and the difficult one. That was the only thing he’d use a safeword over. “If I do something wrong,” Fenris said, “please reprimand me physically rather than verbally. I know it's counter-intuitive, that verbal reprimands seems like the more merciful, but if you pull my hair or slap me, it will be over in seconds, and I will _know_ how angry you are. If you simply tell me that I am displeasing you without acting on your displeasure, I will worry that your frustrations are building, and...” He trailed off. 

Slaves are not allowed to have days when nothing goes right. They’re not allowed to, but they have them anyway. Many are lucky enough to have them well out of their masters’ sights. Fenris had not been so lucky. He had more than once gone through a day thinking ‘That could have gone better, but apparently it’s fine,’ only to have Danarius snap and open his skin up because he made one little mistake too many. 

Zevran and Tabris nodded. “We will keep that in mind,” Tabris promised. 

What else? ‘No magic’ was hardly relevant here. And Zevran and Tabris were elves themselves, so they were unlikely to _want_ to do anything weird with Fenris’ ears, and if they did, they would do it deliberately and with full knowledge of how much it hurt. (It was actually possible to cause an elf a great deal of pleasure by playing with his ears, or so the legend went, but every single time a human had played with Fenris’ ears, well-meaning or not, it had hurt. No elf had ever tried it.) “Do not tease too much with the food,” Fenris said. “If you’re going to feed me, feed me.”

“Absolutely,” Zevran said. “You will need your strength, anyway. Is there anything else?” 

Fenris’ eyes dropped to the floor again. “Slave play is fine,” he said. “As long as you treat me like an elf and not an animal, I am quite capable of enduring and even enjoying it.” 

Zevran and Tabris looked at each other. An awkward silence hung between them for several seconds. 

“No,” Tabris said to Fenris. “Slave play...” 

“... will not be happening,” Zevran finished. “For _our_ comfort, if not for yours.” 

Fenris shrugged. “It is optional. I merely thought I’d let you know. Some people are afraid to ask.” 

“A lovely thought,” Zevran said. “Unnecessary, but appreciated. We didn’t have anything too intense planned for tonight.”

“Very well, then,” Fenris said. 

“Safeword?” Tabris asked, clearly eager to move on from this part of the conversation. 

“Seheron,” Fenris said. Then he turned around and put his hands and wrists together behind his back. 

Zevran had Fenris snugly tied in seconds. Fenris was turned, gently, and led to the bed. He sat on the edge, and waited. 

Zevran and Tabris joined Fenris on the bed with the tray of food between them. The meat was pork; not Fenris’ favorite, but he pretended it was when the first forkful of it was held to his lips. He didn’t _dis_ like it, which helped. 

The fork was withdrawn from Fenris’ mouth slowly and sensually, and Fenris blinked at Tabris slowly and, once he’d swallowed, said “Thank you, ser,” in his most submissive voice. 

Tabris smiled. “‘Tabris’ and ‘Zevran’ will do nicely, thank you.” 

Fenris nodded. 

The meat went in equal parts to Fenris and to Zevran and Tabris. Both men took two bites themselves for every one they fed Fenris, and in this way, they all were fed and Fenris did not have two forks shoved in his face at once. 

When the meat was gone, they moved for the bread. 

You don’t eat bread with a fork, of course. It was Zevran’s fingers, soft and just a bit cold, that pressed the bread to Fenris’ lips. Fenris opened his mouth and took it, and allowed himself to lick Zevran’s fingers quickly, certainly not before the assassin _could_ retract them, so presumably before he wanted to. 

Zevran’s eyes lit up and a wicked grin took over his mouth. The bread was finished in a mess of crumbs and giggles, and everything was warm and comfortable. 

That left only the grapes. They fed most of them to Fenris the same way they’d fed him the bread, but when there were just a few grapes left, Zevran grinned, placed one in his mouth, and didn’t bite down. He leaned forward suggestively. 

“Take it from his mouth,” Tabris said, and then Zevran’s lips were on Fenris’. They didn’t open until Fenris’ lips opened, but once that was done, Fenris eagerly stuck his tongue into Zevran’s mouth. It didn’t take much actual work. Zevran cooperated with him and pushed the fruit into Fenris’ mouth. Zevran’s tongue followed. They stayed like that a moment, Zevran’s tongue playfully exploring Fenris’ mouth, before Zevran broke the kiss, and Fenris bit down on the grape.

Zevran put the last grape into his own mouth and transferred it to Tabris the same way, and then the food was gone. Tabris moved the plates and silverware off the bed, out of the way. 

They were done eating, but far from satisfied. 

“Very good,” Tabris purred. He crawled around Fenris, behind him, and Zevran immediately pulled Fenris in for another kiss. 

Fenris was not stupid. He knew Zevran was distracting him from whatever Tabris was doing behind him. Fenris allowed this. Zevran’s tongue pushed its way back into Fenris’ mouth and dominated Fenris’ mouth with a careful but insistent slowness that Fenris melted into. Fenris wanted to be good; to please Zevran and Tabris. He believed he would enjoy doing so, and not only because he trusted them with his pleasure completely. 

Zevran kissed Fenris hungrily until Fenris felt Tabris’ hands on his hips. Zevran noticed a moment later and drew back, and then Fenris was pulled backwards and down into Tabris’ lap and onto just the tip of Tabris’ lubricated cock. 

“Lower yourself at your own pace,” Tabris said calmly. “When you’re fully seated, we’ll talk about what happens next.” 

Fenris nodded. Zevran and Tabris didn’t seem to be requiring verbal replies from him, and Fenris had never been inclined to talk when it wasn’t necessary. 

Tabris was thick, but Fenris had a great deal of practice at getting himself down onto cocks. Even Isabela had a massive dildo collection (with the word “massive” describing both the collection and the dildos) that she’d loved using on Fenris. 

And then he was there. Seated and _finally_ impaled by Tabris’ cock, after many days of lustful looks and playful flirting. It was a climax of its own, in a way, but there was a better climax to come. 

“You’re going to ride me until I cum inside of you,” Tabris whispered in Fenris’ ear. “And you are not going to cum. Not yet.” 

Shivers of anticipation ran down Fenris’ spine, at both the words and the heavy lust in Tabris’ voice. Fenris nodded. 

“Then you’re going to do the same thing with Zevran. While you’re on top of one of us, the other is going to play with you, tease you a little bit, and do whatever we like with you. _Do not cum_. If you feel yourself getting close, inform us. We’ll stop you. Cum without permission and you will be punished. Be good for us for a little bit, however, and you’ll get your pleasure at the end of the night. Sound good?” 

Fenris swallowed hard and nodded again, but that didn’t feel like enough. “Yes, Tabris,” he said. 

“Get started, then.” 

Fenris did. He started fucking himself on Tabris’ cock slowly at first, curious to see what Zevran would do and afraid to make himself too aroused too quickly. Fenris was already hard, though he was a long way from orgasm.

Zevran let Fenris do all the work for him, since Fenris was already doing it all for Tabris. Zevran placed his hand on Fenris’ skin and didn’t move his hand at all as Fenris moved, which had the effect of him gently caressing Fenris’ skin. After a moment, he moved his hand higher, and brought it up to Fenris’ nipples, where he held his fingers stuff, so that he was flicking Fenris’ nipples as Fenris moved on Tabris’ cock. 

Fenris hadn’t been fucked in months. Isabela and her dildo collection were elsewhere, Fenris had declined Hawke and Anders, and Fenris hadn’t had much occasion to seek out physical pleasures while rescuing slaves and escorting them through the mountains. There’d been a few rescued slaves who’d expressed interest, male and female alike, but Fenris had declined. It would feel like taking advantage, and he wasn’t sure that any of them could give him what he craved anyway. 

Now, Fenris was setting his own pace on Tabris’ cock, speeding up a little as his body adjusted and he started to feel braver. He wondered how the oiled up cock must look, sliding in and out of him while he moves up and down on it. He wondered how _he_ looked, submissive and bound and panting in Tabris’ lap, with Zevran playing with his nipples. 

Zevran pinched, and through the pain it caused was mild, it caught Fenris off-guard. Fenris came down on Tabris’ cock and his chest moved away from where Zevran held the pink nub of Fenris’ nipple. The skin was pulled taut, and Fenris hissed. It was not an exaggeration or a deliberate act of manipulation, this time; it was simply Fenris expressing his pain, because he felt safe enough to do so with Zevran and Tabris. 

In fact, they rather seemed to like it. Zevran grinned wickedly, and came down to steal one more kiss from Fenris before he returned to his attention to Fenris’ nipple.

Zevran made Fenris bear at least equal responsibility for torturing himself. Zevran grabbed Fenris’ nipples and held his hand still, and the real pain would come as _Fenris_ moved around on Tabris’ cock. Every few minutes, Zevran released one nipple, rubbed it gently to soothe the pain, and then grabbed the other and start the cycle of pain all over again as Fenris kept a steady pace on Tabris’ cock. 

Fenris was so focused on Zevran’s attentions to his nipples that he almost didn’t hear Tabris’ breathy “Faster,” in his ear. Tabris was getting close, and Fenris knew it, so Fenris obeyed the command, paying no mind to how his faster pace gave him less control over his movements and made Zevran’s grip on his nipples hurt even more. He rode Tabris hard until Tabris shouted “Oh, _Fenris_!” and gripped Fenris’ hips to still him. 

Zevran gave one last caress to Fenris’ sore, throbbing nipples. 

“So good,” Tabris whispered. 

Fenris’ breath caught as Tabris hand reached around Fenris’ body and tugged at Fenris’ cock, just once, enough to heighten Fenris’ arousal but not enough to offer Fenris any real pleasure. It flashed through Fenris’ mind that he could buck into that hand and _take_ more pleasure than he was being offered, but he’d been a slave and then a consensual submissive for long enough to know better than that. He’d be hit if he did, and he didn’t want that. Not right now. 

“And you seem to be enjoying it too...” Tabris whispered. 

Fenris couldn’t see Tabris reach behind him and grab it, but he did see Tabris throw Zevran the jar of lube. This time, Fenris had a perfect view as Zevran popped the lid off the jar, coated his fingers in the lubricant, and sensually rubbed it all over his hard cock. 

Tabris and Zevran spared Fenris the difficulty of turning himself around on his knees without the use of his arms, and switched places around him. Now it was Tabris who knelt before Fenris, his dark skin shining with sweat. 

Zevran pulled Fenris back, and when Fenris felt the tip of a cock pressed at his entrance, he didn’t need to be told what to do. He lowered himself onto it with more ease than he had the last time, since he was stretched now and he had additional lubrication from Tabris’ cum. 

Once he was seated in Zevran’s lap, Tabris pulled him in for a kiss. Tabris was more forceful than Zevran, pushing his way into Fenris’ mouth and conquering it like it was a battlefield full of darkspawn. He made it feel easy, too. Fenris _wanted_ to be conquered by Tabris, gently for now, but more roughly later. He wanted to be conquered again and again, every time they got the chance.

When Tabris drew back, Fenris held contact with his dark brown eyes for a moment, before Zevran said “Begin.” 

An order was an order. Fenris didn’t acknowledge it with a nod or a verbal response, but he immediately obeyed, rocking his hips on Zevran’s lap. 

Tabris gently ran his fingers over each of Fenris’ sore nipples, and then contented himself to simply watch the show that was being put on for him. The satisfied look on his face confirmed to Fenris that he was putting on a nice show, that he’d pleased Tabris, and that he was well on his way to pleasing Zevran. 

Tabris, it seemed, liked to tease. He reached down once a minute at the most and stroked Fenris’ cock. It was enough stimulation to drive Fernis bad, to keep him alert and thinking about his throbbing cock, but nowhere near enough to drive Fenris to orgasm. After a few strokes, Tabris drew his hand away and examined the precum on his fingers. He smiled at Fenris and slowly licked it all off his fingers. 

Fenris kept his pace on Zevran’s cock fast, nearly to the point of punishing himself, now that he was without the punishing stimulation on his nipples to deter him. This was as much about Fenris denying himself his own pleasure it was about Fenris helping Zevran achieve his; Fenris preferred to be fucked slow and deep, but he’d been given clear orders not to cum, and Fenris had to do what he could to counter Tabris’ teasing encouragement to disobey. Fenris preferred to avoid being punished, if he could. That was, after all, the point of punishments. 

Zevran came hard, filling Fenris with even more cum that leaked out of his body when he was lifted off Zevran’s cock. It leaked onto the bed and onto his leg, where it felt strange, but not unpleasant. 

“Good boy,” Zevran praised. He stole another quick kiss as he crawled around Fenris’ body. 

Zevran piled up a few pillows, so that Fenris wasn’t flat on his back when Zevran pushed him backwards and allowed him to rest. 

“A promise is a promise,” Tabris said, “And you’ve been very good.” He leaned forward and licked from the tip of Fenris’ cock to the base. 

Fenris’ breath hitched. 

Tabris grinned wickedly and then took Fenris’ cock into his mouth. Zevran reached over and played with Fenris’ balls, nimble fingers rubbing him closer and closer while Tabris’ warm mouth bobbed up and down on Fenris’ shaft. 

“I’m about to--” Fenris warned, expecting Tabris to pull away, but Tabris didn’t. Tabris _hummed_ , his mouth still around Fenris’ cock, and the vibrations were too much. Fenris came hard down Tabris’ throat, and Tabris swallowed as much as he could. 

What Tabris didn’t swallow, because it leaked from his mouth onto his chin or onto Fenris’ body, Zevran took it upon himself to lick up. Fenris watched as Zevran’s tongue glided over his lover’s jaw line, and then Zevran got down and ticked Fenris clean as well. 

Tabris helped Fenris sit up, and then he untied Fenris’ arms. Fenris shrugged his shoulders once, pillows were moved, and then, much to Fenris’ surprise, he was pulled down into bed by the other two elves. 

“You did not think we were going to let you run off?” Zevran asked playfully. “You are ours for the night, if only for warmth.” 

Fenris smiled slightly. “Fair enough,” he said. 

He drifted off to sleep sticky and leaking and in the arms of the Hero of Ferelden and an Antivan Crow, feeling happier and more satisfied than he’d been in a while.


End file.
